


the man with the pack of dogs

by foreversummer



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: M/M, and no one's cheating, except its whizzer and his six crazy hounds, i can't believe im writing fic based on something i read in english class but w/e, this is very loosely based on chekhov's the lady with the dog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-18 07:25:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9374285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreversummer/pseuds/foreversummer
Summary: marvin's encounters with whizzer, a man who has a lot of dogs. many of the ideas in this fic, as well as the motivation to write it, came from my wonderful pal aaron (jewishdelavega on tumblr and marquisdegayaf on here, check out his fics!!).





	1. Chapter 1

On mild and sunny days like this one, Marvin Feldman can be found sitting on a bench in Central Park, spending his lunch break people-watching. He usually sees some of the same people each day: the lady who likes to jog in neon shorts, the man with a long gray coat who’s always rushing to get somewhere, the elderly couple who often pauses during their daily stroll to rest on the next bench over. But today, Marvin sees someone new, someone infinitely more exciting than anyone he’s ever seen on previous people-watching excursions. First, he hears heavy panting and paws clacking on the asphalt. Next, Marvin sees a group - no, a whole pack - of dogs, all different breeds, excitedly trotting by and nosing their way around other people on the path. Then Marvin notices that all their leashes lead back to one hand, which is attached to a man on a skateboard who is holding a coffee cup in his other hand and being pulled along precariously by his pack of dogs. Marvin almost drops his chicken gyro with surprise and amusement. Although fumbling for balance, the man looks completely at ease, taking sips of his coffee as locks of brown hair flop down onto his forehead every now and then. He’s wearing jeans, a button-down, and a leather jacket: quite stylish dog-walking attire. He looks a few years younger than Marvin and his cheeks are flushed from the slight chill in the air. 

“Woah, Marsha, chill out!” He calls to an overeager husky who’s gotten ahead of the other dogs, and he laughs as she slows down enough for him to regain his balance. Marvin is a little bit smitten. He wonders if the dogs all belong to that one man, or if he walks dogs for some extra money on the side. Marvin smiles and shakes his head at the thought of all those dogs in one New York City shoebox apartment. Before he knows it, the man has disappeared down the path and Marvin is forced to turn his attention back to other, less interesting people. 

…

That Friday, Marvin stands on the cramped subway during his commute to work. He is disgruntled for several reasons; it’s seven in the morning, his coffee hasn’t kicked in, and he is being jostled around every time the car so much as quivers on the tracks. He rolls his eyes when the doors open at the next station and even more people try to force their way on. He squeezes back towards the wall as far as he can go, but there’s barely even room to breathe as is. It’s an uncomfortable five minutes before the train reaches its next stop, but when it does, Marvin says a silent prayer of thanks that the man who had been pressed right up against him gets off. Marvin exhales deeply and smoothes the sleeves of his jacket. Unfortunately, his comfort doesn’t last long - he feels people pushing around behind him and someone new is forced into what was Marvin’s personal space for a few wonderful seconds.

“Oh, gosh, sorry,” the man says, trying to adjust in order to give Marvin as much room as possible, which is barely any.

“It’s fine,” Marvin mumbles, then looks up. Oh. _Oh._ It’s the man with the pack of dogs, except this time he doesn’t have his dogs, it’s just him, and my God is he the most beautiful man Marvin’s ever seen on New York City public transport, possibly in all of New York City. Today he’s wearing a smart navy blazer, a mint button-down, and an expression all too pleasant for someone being shoved around on a hot and grimy subway car. Marvin decides he has to do something. 

“I, uh, I almost didn’t recognize you without all the dogs.” Marvin kicks himself internally. Okay, something else. Anything but that.

“What?” The man says, probably wondering if Marvin is a stalker or is here to tell him that he kidnapped one of his dogs. Marvin pushes those thoughts aside and tries again.

“I saw you with a bunch of dogs in Central Park yesterday. Great idea, with the skateboard.”

“Oh!” A smile begins to spread across the man’s face as he remembers. “Well thanks. I give them food and a home and they give me transportation. Works out pretty well.”

“So they’re all yours?” Marvin asks.

“Yep! They get to be kind of a handful sometimes, but I love them.”

“That’s wonderful,” Marvin says, suddenly wondering if his hair’s a mess or if his clothes are rumpled or if he looks dead inside because he barely got any sleep.

But then the doors open and the man gives Marvin another brilliant smile and a wave as he starts to make his way to the exit. Marvin smiles back and looks down in time to notice a tiny dachshund poking its head out of the man’s duffel bag. Marvin thinks he might just be in love because that is the most adorable thing he’s seen in the last three years. He’s so starstruck for the rest of the subway ride that he doesn’t even notice all the people bumping into him. He’s disappointed that he didn’t talk to the man any more or catch his name, but he hopes that maybe luck will favor him a third time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more pups, more marvin, more whizzer, and more chapters coming soon!

It’s overcast the next Tuesday, but Marvin still eats his lunch in Central Park. He won’t admit that he’s hoping he might see the man with the pack of dogs again. All the usual people pass by, along with some new ones: a woman who has her excitable child on a leash, a man who’s whistling Christmas carols in the middle of April, and a young couple who stops to kiss passionately in the middle of the path, at which Marvin makes a face and looks away. He doesn’t see anyone else intriguing for a while and begins to ruminate on the ethics of putting a child on a leash. Before he knows it, he’s finished with his boxed salad and there’s no man with a pack of dogs in sight. He checks his watch, wondering if he has time to sit and wait any longer before he has to be back at work. Unfortunately, he’s got fifteen minutes left in his lunch break, so he packs up his things and moves towards the nearest trash can. He only makes it about halfway across the path before someone yells “Look out!” and he jumps back towards the bench. By some miracle, it’s the man and his dogs again, only feet away from him, except this time the dogs have caught sight of a squirrel on the grass nearby and are dashing eagerly towards it. The man on the skateboard is dangerously unbalanced as he zooms past Marvin and startles several other passersby, and Marvin wants to yell, “Wait! Come back!” so he can at least get his _name_ for God’s sake, but it turns out he doesn’t have to, because the man’s skateboard catches on an uneven section of asphalt and he goes sprawling face-first onto the grass next to the bench where Marvin was sitting. Several people on the path gasp, and the man pushes himself up to his knees, holding his nose. His dogs have lost sight of the squirrel and begin to crowd around their owner, trying to figure out what’s wrong. Marvin immediately jumps up and rushes to the man, hesitantly placing a hand on his shoulder and asking, “are you alright?”

The man turns to face him, warm brown eyes visible even with the hand covering his nose. “Oh fuck, it’s you again,” he says. His eyes widen as he sees Marvin’s perturbed expression, and he amends, “I mean - yeah, I’m alright, I think I might’ve broken my nose though.”

“Well,” Marvin says, handing him the lead for his dogs and helping him to stand, “if you don’t mind, I could look at it for you.”

The man pauses and deliberates for a moment before letting go of his nose. “Thanks.”

Marvin notices it’s bleeding, furrows his brow, and says, “Here, come sit down.” 

He gestures to where he was sitting moments earlier and the man sits down next to him, tugging gently on the lead so that the dogs gather around the bench. 

“Keep your head tilted a bit forward until the bleeding stops,” Marvin tells him.

Then Marvin examines the man’s nose, which is small and ski-sloped and absolutely perfect. And also probably not broken, because Marvin doesn’t see any swelling or crookedness. 

“I think you’re good, actually,” Marvin says, and the man's shoulders drop a little in relief. “It might feel broken just because it took a pretty hard whack. Keep an eye on it anyway. And” - Marvin pulls a pack of tissues out of his briefcase and hands it to the man - “for the nosebleed.”

“Thank you,” the man says, laughing a little then wincing and reaching for his nose again. “Seriously, I’m not sure what I did to deserve a stranger being so nice to me.” He reaches out the hand that doesn't have blood on it. “I’m Whizzer Brown, by the way.”

Marvin has never been so eager to shake someone’s hand in his life. “Marvin Feldman,” he responds.

He’s not entirely sure Whizzer is a real name, but having heard it, he can’t think of anything else to better suit this man. Even while trying to wipe blood off the lower half of his face, he is glowing, his dogs looking at him like he’s some kind of woodland prince who speaks to animals. It’s then that Marvin realizes he’s already late back for work, and although he’s in good standings with his boss, he’d prefer not to rock the boat too much. Though itching to get back as soon as possible, he decides he might as well push his luck a little further.

“Hey, in case you ever fall and break your face again, can I give you my number?” Marvin tries to come off light and joking but he’s sure that anxiety is visible in his features. Even on the off chance that Whizzer is interested in men, the probability of him being interested in Marvin is essentially zero.

“Actually, my best friend’s girlfriend is a doctor.” _Of course,_ Marvin thinks. _Just a fancy way of saying he hopes he never sees me ever again._ “...But if I ever need a paramedic, I’ll call you.”

Marvin’s head snaps up to see the twinkle in Whizzer’s eye and the smile tickling the corners of his mouth.

“Oh,” Marvin says, his brain malfunctioning due to the sheer impossibility of this outcome. “Oh, right, okay, great.” 

He ruffles in his briefcase for a notepad and paper, scrawls down his digits, then rips off the page and hands it to Whizzer. 

“Great,” Whizzer says easily, folding up the paper and slipping it in his pocket, “I’ll be in touch.” 

Then he stands up, picks up his skateboard, and snaps his fingers to let his dogs know that it’s time to go.

“Oh, and thanks again for helping with this,” Whizzer tells Marvin, smiling and gesturing to his perfect face before turning around and continuing on his walk, this time on foot with his skateboard under his arm.

“Of course,” Marvin says, standing on the path with his head in the clouds for several long second before he snaps back to reality and begins to run in the direction of his office. Upon realizing that he's not anxious to get back at all, he slows down and smiles to himself. That exchange with the man with the pack of dogs, with _Whizzer Brown,_ was far more important than anything that could've happened at work, and those few extra minutes in the park were so worth the reprimanding he’ll get from his boss.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> marvin is a huge fucken romantic (sorry this took so damn long i had finals and then i moved it was a nightmare but anyway there's gonna be one more chapter after this)

It’s a week before Marvin hears from Whizzer. A week of Marvin’s thoughts drifting to Whizzer’s smile and sparkling eyes and floppy hair during work, a week of Marvin’s anxious brain telling him that Whizzer only took his number to be polite and probably threw it out minutes later (and a week of Marvin often waking up hot and uncomfortable from dreams of Whizzer, but he’d never admit that). But Marvin survives the week, and on Tuesday evening while he’s watching the news, the phone rings and he bolts up off the couch to answer it. 

“Hello?” He says.

“Hi, is this Marvin Feldman?”

Marvin’s pulse doubles and he barely gets out, “Yes, yes it is.”

“This is Whizzer Brown, I’m not sure if you remember…?”

Marvin almost laughs at that. “Of course I remember.”

“Okay, great. Well, hey, I was wondering if you might want to come over, because I, uh- I walked into a wall.”

Marvin pauses for a minute and decides to play along. “Clumsy, huh?”

“Dangerously.”

“Are you actually at all hurt, or…?”

“I mean, I’ll live, but I really think you should come over.”

Marvin holds his breath and thinks. Marvin Feldman does not flirt with young, gorgeous men. Marvin Feldman does not go over to said men’s houses at all hours of the night. Marvin Feldman asks for Whizzer’s address and says he’ll be there in ten.

…

Remarkably, there’s a parking spot on the same block as Whizzer’s building, and Marvin tries to think of it as a sign that going to this stranger’s apartment late at night will work out well for him. Whizzer buzzes him in, and then he’s climbing the stairs to apartment 3C and trying not to sprint the rest of the way up, which half of his brain is telling him to do, or go back down and drive home, which the other half of his brain is telling him to do. He manages to keep a reasonable pace and soon arrives in front of a thick wooden door. Marvin takes a deep breath and knocks, inciting a storm of yapping and barking. Then Whizzer Brown, wearing a pink polo and a bright smile, cracks the door and tells him to come on in but be careful not to let any of his dogs get out. Marvin awkwardly forces himself inside, opening the door as little as possible, and is immediately sprung on by Whizzer’s pack of dogs. 

“Hey, hey, back off, you guys,” Whizzer says, gently pulling on some of the dogs’ collars so they don’t knock Marvin to the ground.

“It’s alright,” Marvin laughs, reaching down to pet as many fluffy heads as he can. “Care to introduce me?”

“Oh, right, of course,” Whizzer says. “The Basset’s Barbara, the Golden Retriever is Laurence, the dachshund is Alta Kaka, the Shih Tzu is Patrice, the Husky is Marsha, and the Great Dane is Ru.” He pauses a moment as Marvin continues greeting all the dogs, bending down and standing up as he tries to pet both the dachshund and the Great Dane at the same time. “You’re probably gonna forget all that in a minute or two, but… yeah. Dogs, meet Marvin. Marvin, meet dogs.”

“They’re wonderful,” Marvin says, finally looking back up at Whizzer.

“They’re pretty awful sometimes, actually,” Whizzer says. “But they’re family.” He pauses and remembers that they’re still standing in the entryway. “Come on in, let’s at least sit down or something.” 

He leads Marvin into a small living room area with a TV, a couch, and a couple chairs. The dogs follow them and settle down on the rug and around the chairs. 

“Do you want anything to drink?” Whizzer asks. 

Marvin tells him he’s fine and sits down on the couch, his hands rubbing anxiously over his knees.

“So, I take it the incident with the wall wasn’t so bad?” He calls to Whizzer, who’s getting a glass of water.

“Nope! Good as new already,” Whizzer responds.

“How’s your nose from last week?” Marvin asks as Whizzer sits down next to him and places his glass on the coffee table.

“You were right, it wasn’t broken. Just sore, but a lot better now.”

“Good,” Marvin says, briefly examining Whizzer’s nose to make sure the fall didn’t affect its adorably graceful slope (which it didn’t), and then it’s silent for an uncomfortable moment. Whizzer seems totally relaxed while Marvin is barely refraining from wringing his hands in his lap. 

“Remember last week in the park, right after I fell, I said something like ‘oh fuck, it’s you again?’” Whizzer asks, smiling a little. 

“Yes,” Marvin says. “I didn’t quite know what to make of that.”

“I definitely wasn’t thinking when I said that, but what I meant was ‘oh fuck, _of course_ that ridiculously handsome guy has to be here when I’m falling on my face.’” Whizzer nudges Marvin’s arm with his elbow playfully. 

Marvin stumbles over a “thank you” and wonders what mixed-up universe he ended up in where _Whizzer Brown_ is calling _him_ handsome. 

Marvin’s nerves are starting to seep out and permeate Whizzer’s calm demeanor, so before the situation can get any more tense, Whizzer places a hand on Marvin’s cheek and gently presses his lips to his. 

He pulls back to see Marvin raising his eyebrows in surprise before meeting Whizzer in the middle for another, more forceful kiss. Marvin would marvel at how remarkably lucky he is if his brain could process anything other than that he is currently kissing Whizzer Brown. Whizzer swipes his tongue over Marvin’s bottom lip, causing Marvin to part his lips enough for Whizzer to lick into his mouth. Marvin realizes he should probably do more with his hands, so when Whizzer shifts closer, he runs them over Whizzer’s back and lets one come to rest on his neck, his fingers winding into Whizzer’s hair. All too soon, Whizzer pulls back.

“So, this is great,” Whizzer begins. “But I’d rather not do any more with my dogs watching.” 

Marvin looks to the side and notices that all of Whizzer’s dogs are still in the room with them, and although most of them are dozing off or don’t give a shit about what their owner is doing, Marvin laughs and buries his face in his hands.

Whizzer stands up and tugs on Marvin’s wrist, pulling him to his feet. “Come on,” he says, smiling, and leads Marvin to his bedroom. 

And so Marvin falls into bed with Whizzer Brown, whose every action holds such sincerity and who beams like there’s nowhere else in the world he’d rather be. Marvin, though uncertain, is anything but passive, and luckily for him, Whizzer is nothing if not responsive. Marvin thinks he might just die. But he doesn’t, and afterwards, he lies flat on his back with Whizzer next to him and toying with his disheveled curls. 

“Do you mind?” Whizzer asks.

“What? Oh. My hair?”

“Yes,” Whizzer laughs. “Sorry, sometimes guys hate when people touch their hair.”

“I don’t mind.” 

“Good,” Whizzer says. 

They’re silent for a moment. Then Whizzer remarks, “you don’t do this often.”

“Nope,” says Marvin. “I’ve had a couple boyfriends, but nothing serious. And no hookups.”

“Ever?” Whizzer asks incredulously.

“Ever.” 

“Well, I’m honored to be your introduction to the wonderful world of commitment-free sex,” laughs Whizzer.

Marvin just hmmms in agreement and rolls onto his side so he can rest his head on Whizzer’s shoulder, thinking that he’d want to be in Whizzer Brown’s bed if it came with all the commitments in the universe. He drapes an arm over Whizzer’s chest, and Whizzer lifts a hand to twine their fingers together.

Marvin looks around, at the gray sheets and soft white walls and dark blue curtains and clock that tells him it’s just past midnight. Without even thinking to ask if he can stay, Marvin sinks into the security of the room and the comfort of the bed and the warmth of the man beside him as he falls asleep.

…

Marvin wakes with a start several hours later, when the faintest sunlight is filtering through the curtains. He remembers where he is and realizes that although he doesn’t have to be at work for another few hours, he should get back to his apartment to shower and eat breakfast. He doesn’t want to get up - Whizzer is lying next to him, hair adorably askew and lips slightly parted. Marvin admires him for a few more seconds before gently lifting up Whizzer’s arm from over his stomach and sliding out of bed. He collects his clothes from off the floor, remembering Whizzer’s hands deftly undoing each button and zipper the night before. He casts one last look at Whizzer, trying to will his brain into developing a photographic memory, before closing the door as quietly as possible. As he walks through the living room, several of Whizzer’s dogs blink awake and lift their heads to watch him leave. Marvin’s not sure how dogs can convey “you seem nice so I don’t mind you here, but if you hurt my owner I’ll obliterate you” in a single look, but somehow that’s what he reads. He shakes his head, decides Whizzer’s apartment is making him crazy, and leaves before he can be pulled any deeper into the ridiculous fantasy his brain is concocting in which he comes home to those dogs every night.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and so this cheesy ass fic comes to a close. thanks for sticking with me!!!

Over the next month, Whizzer calls Marvin for assistance with increasingly minor inconveniences. When Whizzer says, “my shoe came untied so I tripped and stubbed my toe,” they end up trading blowjobs in his living room. When Whizzer says, “my grocery bag broke and there are eggs all over me and the sidewalk,” they have sex in his shower. When Whizzer says, “my dog licked my face in the middle of my moisturizing routine,” they find themselves having lunch at a cafe a few blocks away from his apartment. 

They’ve learned a fair amount about each other by filling the time before they take their clothes off and while they’re putting them back on with small talk. For example, Whizzer knows that Marvin has lived in New York all his life but moved around to different boroughs and suburbs. He knows that Marvin doesn’t mind his job as an ad exec because it makes good money but it’s boring and he doesn’t have many friends there. Marvin knows that Whizzer grew up in Michigan and moved here to get away from his parents after he came out to them. He knows that Whizzer got a scholarship to NYU and used the money he earned waiting tables back home and out here to rent a shoebox apartment until he got a job bartending and his photography started selling. But today at the cafe, Whizzer learns that Marvin takes his coffee with two sugars and loves heated discussions about politics. Marvin learns that Whizzer gets overly invested in the newest health or fitness crazes and that he was only planning to adopt one dog but ended up with six because he hated the thought of them staying in the shelter without homes any longer. He learns that he really likes Whizzer Brown and wants to kiss him goodbye, but settles for a wave and a small smile before turning away and hailing a cab. 

...

The next week, Marvin mans up enough to invite Whizzer over to his place with no pretense or excuse. They talk and laugh and drink wine like mature adults, and Marvin hasn’t felt warmer in years. They make out for a while, sure, but Whizzer’s a giggly drunk and Marvin’s tired from work so they don’t go any further. Marvin finds that he feels completely at ease just sitting there with his arm around Whizzer and that his apartment doesn’t feel too crowded with someone else there. When he helps Whizzer into a cab that night, Whizzer kisses him goodbye, a sloppy kiss that makes the cab driver look away. Marvin knows it’s just because he’s drunk but he blushes and hopes that he meant it all the same. When he goes back up to his apartment, he starts to feel uncomfortable in the silence and stillness that he so often seeks refuge in.

…

It’s August and Marvin meets Whizzer and his dogs in Central Park on his lunch break. They hug awkwardly and ask each other how their days have been while Marvin greets the dogs, who still jump on him excitedly as if they’re meeting him for the first time. As they walk along the path together, Whizzer kvetches about his curmudgeonly neighbor who keeps telling him to make his dogs shut up. 

“They’re dogs, they’ve gotta get their energy out somehow! I don’t understand why he’s so mad that it involves squeaky toys or barking every now and then,” Whizzer exclaims.

Marvin laughs a little and bumps their shoulders together before saying, as casually as he can, “why don’t you move in with me then?”

Whizzer stops and looks at him with raised eyebrows as his dogs begin to pull on their leashes. “Are you serious?”

“Well... my apartment has more space for them to play and - and most of my neighbors have pets too.” He says it almost like a question, unsure of himself.

“Oh,” Whizzer says, blinking a few times and trying to process Marvin’s offer. Marvin suddenly thinks maybe he just messed everything up, maybe he completely misinterpreted their relationship, maybe Whizzer will be spooked and never speak to Marvin again and move across the country and--

“I - I mean, yes,” Whizzer says, a smile spreading across his face. “Yes, thank you, I’d love that.” 

Now it’s Marvin’s turn to stand there dumbstruck at the thought of Whizzer moving in with him, Whizzer’s dogs waking him up every morning and Whizzer being there when he goes to sleep and makes breakfast and watches the news. Whizzer hugs him tightly and laughs in amazement and happiness, whispering, “God, I wish I could kiss you right now.” 

All Marvin can do is hug him back even tighter.

…

And so Whizzer Brown and his six dogs move from their shoebox into Marvin Feldman’s considerably larger apartment with a balcony and small park behind the building. Whizzer hangs up his pictures in almost every room, several of which depict Marvin doing mundane tasks like making coffee or putting on a shirt. Whizzer says those candid moments are when he's “at his most beautiful,” to which Marvin rolls his eyes but lets him hang them up nonetheless. They discover that it’s not the easiest thing in the world to live with someone, especially because Marvin’s never been in a committed relationship and Whizzer’s never been monogamous. They bicker over petty matters, like who forgot to run the dishwasher last night and who shrunk that load of laundry. Every now and then, Whizzer sleeps on the couch. But every day, they take the dogs out together. Every day, they’re reminded of how they first met and whatever they’ve been fighting about doesn’t matter anymore. On one particular evening, they sit on the bench in the little park behind their apartment and watch the dogs run around and paw at each other. No one’s around, so Whizzer leans his head on Marvin’s shoulder. Marvin can’t exactly say he ever envisioned his life panning out this way, but he’s never been more grateful that the man with the pack of dogs fell and almost broke his nose that day in Central Park.


End file.
